


DSMP Prompt Fills

by karmicpunishment



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Baking, Bread, Character Death, Death, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Ficlet, Fluff, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, Prompt Fill, Tags will be added as they occur, Wilbur is Philza's son, content warnings at the beginning of each chapter, platonic marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-24 00:08:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30063663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmicpunishment/pseuds/karmicpunishment
Summary: prompt fill series for the dream smp :-)mostly using prompts from the DSMP Big Bang Bootcamp <3
Relationships: Phil Watson & Wilbur Soot, Tubbo & Ranboo, Tubbo & Ranboo & Michael
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37
Collections: DSMP Big Bang Bootcamp





	1. the snowchester's residents guide to keeping warm

**Author's Note:**

> week 1: a warm welcome  
> prompt 1: bread

Snowchester was always cold. This fact was not strange or surprising. (I mean, the name is  _ Snow _ chester. Of course it’s cold.) 

Still, knowing a place is cold and feeling it are two very different things. So, when it comes to fighting off the cold, the residents of Snowchester all have their own ways of doing it.

For Jack, the cold was welcome anyways, the bitter chill providing a brief reprieve of flashes of the molten hell he dreamt of and an excuse for the shaking of his hands. He didn’t try to fight off the cold. He was tired of fighting, what was the point of trying to do it with the weather?

For Foolish, the cold wasn’t much of a bother. Most of his time was spent in the hot desert sun, residence in Snowchester nearly merely a formality. Even so, the cold, the snow, the wind, were all minor details in Foolish’s mind. He’d been to the darkest depths of the frigid ocean, to the highest points of cloudless skies. A bit of snow didn’t bother him. Still, everything he built was airtight and perfectly sound, no cold in and no heat out. It didn’t bother him but his buildings weren’t for him, so he built them warm. Most mortals tended to prefer that anyway. 

For Tubbo, well, he had tried many, many ways of keeping out the cold. He’d tried thick coats lined with fur and wool were stacked in his closet, matching hats and gloves and scarves beside them. He’d tried fireplaces and lit netherrack and piles of blankets and hot chocolate gripped in frozen hands. Yes, he’s tried many ways of fighting off the cold, but he thinks this one is his favorite. 

The kitchen was covered in discarded flour and salt and yeast and yet Tubbo didn’t mind. He was much more focused on the sound of laughter flooding the kitchen. Michaels soft grunts and chitters mixing with Ranboo’s warm laughs and the odd occasional distinctly enderman ‘vwoop’ noise and Tubbo’s own giggles and cackles thrown in for good measure. The room was warm, nearly hot, from the main wall, lined with furnaces, all with carefully made (if a bit messily formed) loaves of bread cooking. 

The two of them, Ranboo and him, had shown Michael how to bake bread for the first time, taking him carefully through the steps, of course congratulating him whenever one was done right. The process was long, and undoubtedly messy but the gleam in his eye as he placed the first loaf in the oven made everything worth it. 

And so, in a messy kitchen in his messy home with his equally messy and mismatched family, Tubbo felt, for the first time in Snowchester, completely and utterly warm. 


	2. welcome home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> even still, at the end of the world, wilbur soot was cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dsmp big bang bootcamp prompt fill!
> 
> week 1: A Warm Welcome   
> prompt 2: hugging 
> 
> cw// character death, slight blood are gore mention

Phil’s hugs were always warm. Steady body heat and a tight grip and his black downy wings assured it. 

This was Wilbur’s first Dadza hug in years and yet, all he could feel was the chill. 

It was probably his fault. He was always so cold, internal heater so broken like the rest of him that not even the warmest hug was enough. Nothing was enough. Not the campfires in Pogtopia. Not the pools of lava in the nether. Not even the 11 and ½ stacks of TNT he just detonated. He could feel the forming burns, tight on his back and hands and arms, where the heat had scalded and maimed him but it had barely felt warm at all. Not nearly enough to even chip away at the ice statue he’d become. 

He’d hoped a hug from  his Dad , from Phil, would be enough. That’s what he gets for hoping of course. Nothing but unfulfilled emptiness and the chill. 

Maybe it was the blood loss or the cool diamond blade still embedded in his gut. Maybe it was the tears falling onto his cheek that were not his own. Or maybe it was just his fate, to die broken and oh-so-cold. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

His vision was growing dimmer, his fathers cries growing softer (or was it just his hearing fading?) as the smoke started to dissipate. A soft ray of sun hit his face, cradling his cheek, just like his dad would do as a kid. He missed it. 

It was still so cold. 

A hand came up to the sun beams spot, calloused and familiar. Maybe he’d heard him reminiscing somehow. (Maybe he was thinking of the same long gone memories) A thumb ran back and forth over his cheekbone, and unbidden, tears came to his bleary eyes. A single tear dripped a path down the dust on his cheek. A second tear came from above. The sounds of fighting grew dull and far away, reminiscent of hearing underwater, and soon the only sound he heard was his own ragged breath and his fathers next words.   
  
“Rest well Wilbur. And...tell her hello for me.”   
  
And Wilbur Soot died. 

\----

There was a woman in front of him. 

Much of this situation was to be questioned, but all he could see was the women in front of him. 

Short, shorter than him, but a presence that could fill a thousand rooms. Dark hair, curled and perfect. Warm eyes and an even warmer smile. 

Something about her seemed familiar. Maybe it was her eyes, a mirror of his own. Maybe it was the wings on her back, dark and glossy like the midnight sky he’d stay up to watch so often, a parallel of his fathers own. Or maybe it was the smile on her face, glowing and friendly and kind. 

No matter what it was, something in him knew her. Trusted her. Understood who she was. 

Lady Death stood in front of him with open arms, a enticing hug. 

“Welcome home Wilbur.”

And in her arms, Wilbur Soot was warm. 


End file.
